Fires can be extinguished and new ones lit
by Estelle Tiniwiel
Summary: The Phantom has escaped after Don Juan and the gendarmes are frantically trying to track down the murderer, but old habits die hard Madame Giry is not going to give up on him yet. However, her plans go awry due to unforseen circumstances. ON HOLD.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: The Phantom has escape after Don Juan and the gendarmes are frantically trying to track down the murderer, but old habits die hard, and Madame Giry is not going to give up on him just yet. However, her well meant plans go awry when the Phantom becomes attracted to her daughter. But this time it is not her adopted daughter; it's her real one. Meg is yet wary of the Phantom and feels no where near to friendly, but will her attitude alter once she learns to see the man behind the monster? This story is sort of a sequel to "Regret". Rated K (rating is likely to change).

Disclaimer: I do not own any version of the Phantom of the Opera (except my DVD and soundtrack) and make no money from this story.

Author's Note:

I know that this first chapter is not particularly thrilling, neither does it have much of a plot, but it serves its purpose in that I hope it will help readers get into the mood of the piece, and it will help me get into the swing of things. As of yet there are not adult themes, but as I intend for adult themes to be introduced it is very likely that the rating will later change. I hope this chapter isn't too boring and I promise there will be more action in the next one, plus actually having Meg and the Phantom in it (which may be helpful considering I want this to be a Meg and Erik focused story). Enjoy, and please leave reviews: a writer needs to feel loved.

"When the One Great Scorer comes to write against your name,

He marks, not that you won or lost,

But how you played the game." - Grantland Rice.

- Estelle Tiniwiel -x-

After the night of Don Juan everyone had thought that things would calm down, the Phantom had been caught and the killings, therefore, brought to a stop.

Unfortunately, Christine and Raoul knew that the Phantom had not been brought before the law, and Raoul had a horrible suspicion that, even in his broken state, the Phantom would be just as dangerous as before.

Christine knew he would be worse.

She remembered how her Angel had fallen, knew she was the cause for it, but recalled also how he had informed her of how he had decided to return: as an Angel of Hell with wings of fire at his back. And she was afraid.

"Bonjour, Monsieur. I have looked forward to your visit. I was just enquiring as to whether the search was still underway."

"Yes, Vicomte, it is. But we have no leads. This man is impossible to track. We do not know his name, if he has a bank account –"

"He's certainly got a lot of money."

" – who he may count as friends, and the only half decent description we have of him is this: 'tallish, could have dark hair if he's wearing a wig, but lighter if he's not, with a death head on one side of his face; oh, and an amazing singing voice.' All the accounts are from members of the public involved in the disaster on opera night, but none are detailed. Did you not see him when you went after Mademoiselle Daaé?"

"No, Monsieur. He had donned a new mask by the time I had arrived and I had other more pressing matters to attend to at the time than taking a description of the Phantom."

Alright, Raoul admitted to himself that he knew perfectly well what the Phantom looked like and that what he had just said about the Phantom having worn another mask was a complete lie , but he had promised Christine.

_Flashback_

Christine looked up with eyes at once pleading and agitated.

"No, Raoul! We promised him."

"Promised him what!"

"That we would not speak of him."

"I promised no such thing."

" 'Take the boat, swear to me never to tell

the secrets you know of the Angel in Hell.'

I promised him, Raoul. In my heart I promised him, because I could not help but pity him. And I think, Raoul, that deep down you pitied him too, and you respected his privacy, and you promised him too."

Raoul knew that this had some grain of truth in it, but under no circumstances would he admit it.

"I would not swear anything for him."

"Then for me. Please, Raoul, I can't betray him anymore. All that happens is we get hurt and he gets away. There's no point in fighting. Please, just leave it at this: he let me go. Promise me."

Raoul felt his hackles rise at the way Christine unconsciously imitated the words of her former idol, but knew that if Christine was to live an untroubled life, unafraid of the shadows, he would have to give in to this earnest request.

"I promise."

_End of flashback_

The gendarme looked at the Vicomte with concern. The Vicomte did not appear to be seeing him, but gazing off into some far distanced memory, and a memory that was troubling the Vicomte, if the sad frown was anything to go by.

"No," the Vicomte replied slowly, "I don't know what he looks like. I don't know where he may have gone. I don't think he has any friends: the Girys used to obey him, but don't bother them. I am sure that they only obeyed him out of fear and any trust there was between them was broken when Madame Giry told me how to find him." And how to protect myself from him, he thought, mentally kicking himself. If I had remembered then things would probably have worked out differently and that fiend of a Phantom would be dead.

Plus, he thought, the only reason Giry told you how to get rid of him was because she was afraid. Afraid of me. I wonder, if it wasn't for me, would she still be sheltering him now?


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own any version of the Phantom of the Opera (except my DVD and soundtrack) and make no money from this story.

Author's Note:

Rating's changed (to K+) due to violence and possibly very minor language (very minor). This fanfic is based on the movie version of Phantom (with Gerard Butler in it). This chapter actually seems to have more of a plot. If anyone doesn't understand the bit about Christine in this chapter then read "Regret" and things will fall into context. There are some dark bits in this chapter but there are some lighter moments (I think…there might not be, I can't decide), so don't worry. I'm sorry that I take so long to update, but this is a long chapter for me, so try to see that as compensation. Thanks go to MadameGiryMiranda for being the only person to review the first chapter, but as the story gets going hopefully that will change; thanks also for the two lovely people who reviewed my first ever fanfic "Regret", you really boosted my confidence. On with the chapter!

"Oh, what a tangled web we weave

when first we practice to deceive."- Walter Scott: Marmion

- Estelle Tiniwiel -x-

Meg Giry hurried through the streets and alleyways of Paris, frantically searching for the Phantom of the Opera, the one her mother had spent so many years protecting, but who was once again on the run from the law.

She knew that her mother had felt pressurised into revealing the location of the Phantom's lair to the Vicomte, because so many people had suffered at his hands, but also because she could have lost her job and been arrested for impeding the course of justice. This time she had chosen to protect herself and her daughter over an insane genius that she felt she had a duty towards.

Now, however, Meg was trying to renew the bond between her family and the Phantom, if only for her mother's state of mind. Meg had been fascinated by the Phantom, that was true, but he had hurt a friend whom she treated like a sister and had committed murder on more than one count. However much she acknowledged that the Phantom was not wholly evil, it didn't mean that she had to like him.

Meg had run down to the lair before the mob could reach it, desperate to make sure that they hadn't caught him. She had been both relieved and afraid when she saw him nowhere and the white porcelain mask lying on the table: she could not imagine what had possessed him to leave that behind, so she picked it up without anybody noticing, just in case. She could not help but admit that she also picked it up because it fascinated her, just as its owner had.

So now she was trawling the streets searching for the Phantom. And so far she was having no luck whatsoever.

The Phantom seethed as he listened to Christine beating a hasty retreat away from his anger and his hatred. How dare she come back, taunting him? But in his darkness he smiled slightly to himself: he would make them all rue the day when they had crossed him.

Searching around he found not trace of his usual white mask, neither could he find any spare masks that he might have had, as they had been taken by either the gendarmes or the mob; he would have gone up to the costume department to try and scavenge some scrap of material or other, but he knew that by now that whole area would be nothing but charred wood and ashes.

"Fine. They shall see me in all my glory: the true Devil's Child."

Grabbing his cape (which was only there because someone had mistaken it for a piece of drapery and therefore thought it not worth stealing) he once again exited his lair, to further prowl the streets of Paris, and reveal his demonic nature to the world.

"I could not find him, Maman."

"What? But why not? How difficult can it be to find him – it's not as though he won't stand out in a crowd!"

"Very difficult, considering the fact that he is well practiced in stealth and concealment and probably doesn't want us to come anywhere near him after we revealed him!"

Madame Giry paused momentarily, glaring at her daughter, before giving a stinging comeback of her own.

"He has reached cracking point. He will act as he has always felt he was and should be, as an Angel of Hell, and he will leave only death and despair in his wake. As far as he is concerned he has nothing left to live for anymore, and so will not care who or what should find him. He will go about scaring people as only he can, and he will spill blood as he goes. He will be easy to find: go back to the Opera house, and work your way from there."

Meg remained silent, contemplating the Phantom's state of mind, and then:

"Do you _want_ me to die?"

Meg ran down the street, her senses on full alert. She had donned a hooded cloak to hide her face from any who might recognise her, so that she might ask the whereabouts of the Phantom without being reported: a middle aged woman cowering in front of her tiny house had merely stared in horror and pointed. That was enough for Meg, so she had carried on as quickly as she could whilst not exhausting herself.

Turning a corner she met a sight that she would never forget: a group of men, all over thirty, built like wrestlers and blind drunk. They were shouting taunts and harsh insults, throwing stones and broken bottles. Standing in front of them was a slender man, the right side of his face disfigured and broken. The thing that shocked her most was that he didn't look remotely frightened: he looked smug, scathing of their attempts to harm him, as though he was past the point where he could be harmed. He looked as though he was internally laughing at them. He was the Demon, the Angel in Hell, the Angel _of_ Hell, the Devil's Child. She saw the fell spirit burning in his eyes, and she was afraid.

"Hey, scar-face, how's your love life?"

The Phantom laughed.

"Very well, thank you, sir," he replied, twisting his body slightly to avoid a piece of glass, "I no longer have anything to trouble me."

The men looked slightly put out by his apparent lack of indignation, but carried on nonetheless.

"Good lawd! He must be the ugliest son of Satan that waded through the cesspit of humanity," cried another, putting on a high pitched squeaky voice in an attempt to sound feminine.

"If you could call it a he."

The Phantom's face broke into an insane grin as he revelled in the anger coursing through his body, mentally laughing to himself at the unknown truth in their words, basking in the normally unwanted attention his ravaged face afforded him.

"Oh, gentlemen, if only you all knew."

Suddenly the laughter vanished from his eyes and his face darkened.

"I _am_ the Devil's Child."

And he launched himself towards the men, flinging a noose around the neck of the largest man and snapping it cleanly. There were cries of horror and surprise from some of the men, quickly turning to anger and fear. The men fought back.

Meg looked on as the Phantom disappeared under a sea of bodies, roaring his hatred of his foes as he lashed out with hands and feet and pieces of shattered glass.

"I am the Phantom of the Opera, and I have passed the point of no return!"

Meg saw his face suddenly push through the outer ring of men, his arms held tightly as they rained blows down upon him, his voice filled with venom. She saw him knee one of them in the groin, draw back his arm and elbow another in the chest, and she saw him systematically begin killing as many men as he could.

It was only then she understood why her mother wanted to save him.

"Monsieur, over here! Follow me."

The Phantom could feel himself being borne down under the weight of the larger men, and decided that he could kill lots more people later, as long as he was alive to do so. He looked to the other little phantom hiding in the shadows at the corner.

"I do not follow anyone. But I will come."

A/N: Whaddya think? Read and review. Pretty please?


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own any version of the Phantom of the Opera (except my DVD and soundtrack) and make no money from this story.

Author's Note:

This fanfic is based on the movie version of Phantom (with Gerard Butler in it). I'm sorry I've taken so long to update, but this is the longest chapter so far, so I hope you'll forgive me. Thank you to my reviewers, you're great! Here's the chapter, hope you enjoy.

"The best way out of a difficulty is through it" – Author Unidentified

Estelle Tiniwiel -x-

As they hurried away from the sounds of the men behind them Meg racked her brain for the most suitable escape route. Turning into a street Meg was brought up sharp by the sight of a group of gendarmes. She decided that this was not the most suitable route. Luckily none of the gendarmes notice the small figure of the ballerina at the edge of the street, and the Phantom had made sure he had remained in the shadows. Meg stepped slowly backwards, careful not to make any noise. As soon as they were safely out of sight and hearing range of the gendarmes the Phantom grabbed Meg by the arm and dragged her into a side street, his insane fury turning back into a more normal anger.

"Who are you? Are you an absolute fool? You claim to want to help me and then you drag me into their path?"

"Excuse me, Monsieur, but how am I supposed to know which streets they are on and which they are not? I am doing my best to get you to a place of safety, but cannot help meeting difficulties, so learn to appreciate it!"

Meg's eyebrows twitched slightly in amazement at herself. Had she just scolded the Opera Ghost?

The Phantom paused for a moment, pointing his finger at Meg. He knew that voice, or at least felt he ought to know it, so she must be someone from the Opera House, but she was not Madame Giry, of that he was certain. A chorus girl perhaps? But her voice, although gentle, did not seem to be one that had been regularly trained, even as a chorus girl. He looked at the girl closely as he repeated his question, although this time it was less of a question.

"Tell me who you are."

"No, Monsieur. I would, but I don't want to endanger myself anymore."

"You are endangering yourself by not answering me!"

"But as far as I am concerned, if I don't tell you who I am you are more likely to be curious, and as I think you should not be too happy were you to discover my identity, I think I shall remain anonymous for the time being."

The Phantom glared at the girl before him.

"Then it seems I shall have to find out for myself who you are and remove you hood."

As he lunged she twisted and slipped under his arm. The Phantom felt his anger rising as he found himself faced with a blank wall.

"Monsieur, I would beg that you do not do to me what others have done to you. I do not want you to see my face, so leave me be! Now, if you wish to last the night without being killed or arrested, please do as I say and come with me."

He felt his fingers twitch nervously when she referred to people unmasking his face. He wanted nothing more than to make sure he could trust this person, and that meant revealing her identity; but she was right, he had no more right to remove her protection than Christine had to remove his. Also, he didn't actually care if the gendarmes caught him, he didn't want to have to live through any more pain, but his hatred kept him going, his longing for revenge forcing him to stay within the confines of life. And she was the only one willing to help him; if, of course she was helping him.

"I warn you, girl, that if you should be leading me a false trail in the hopes to betray me, I will not let you escape unscathed."

Meg shivered slightly beneath her cloak, suddenly far more apprehensive of her motives for saving him than she had been before. She was going to give some witty reply along the lines of "you said you would not follow anyone, so how can I be leading," but did not dare, answering instead in a small, slightly intimidated voice.

"I know, Monsieur."

And that set her thinking: my mother betrayed his trust, no matter how unwilling she was in doing it. So what will he do to hurt her?

Christine Daaé sat in the grand drawing room of the de Chagny manor, nervously twisting her hands in her lap. The gendarmes kept coming back to ask questions, and the effort of continuously lying and asking her fiancé to lie was taking its toll on the young bride to be, the strain evident in the slightly creasing of her brow and the troubled look in her eyes. Not only had the gendarmes been coming back, the tone and manner of their questioning had becomes more intense and forceful, as there had already been reports of several more murders already.

That was what Christine feared the most.

She remembered back to what Raoul had said to her before she went onto the stage that fateful night, about how the Phantom would haunt them for the rest of their lives if he was allowed to live. She didn't think that the Phantom would haunt them, she didn't think he'd want to come anywhere near her after watching her leave, but she did not doubt that the Phantom would have no trouble whatsoever in taking his anger and his hatred out on other human beings, those of the race that had abused him and hated him for so long. She was afraid for those others whose lives he would haunt.

The door opened and Raoul walked in, shutting it behind him. He came over and gave his fiancée a kiss before sitting heavily in an armchair opposite her.

"How are things going out there with the gendarmes?"

"How do you expect, when that Phantom has anything to do with it? Absolute hell."

Madame Giry paced anxiously round the small apartment she had rented for her and Meg with the money she had earned at the Opera House. She prayed desperately that Meg wouldn't come to any harm whilst out on the streets, wishing that she could have gone instead. That had been her plan, before Meg insisted that she was too worked up and would be easily distracted, then pointing out that the Phantom would be much less likely to recognise one of many ballet girls than the ballet mistress herself, and that she might not be particularly in his favour after revealing his whereabouts to Christine's lover (who just also happened to be a powerful man who could well afford any kind of help he needed in killing the Phantom).

That led her on to her second problem: neither Meg nor Madame Giry had been able to think of any place to safely hide the Phantom, as the cellars he had previously occupied were now being closely guarded, meaning the Phantom would be staying with them. Madame Giry decided she would keep her hand at the level of her eyes the whole time. And keep a safe distance in case he had a sword or anything else he could throw at her.

"We are almost there, Monsieur. I must ask you to keep a hold on your temper, for we are doing what we can to help you, but…", she trailed off, unsure of how to address the situation.

The Phantom had been watching her for some time, noticing her height and light build, the way she walked with natural grace and the almost perfect balance of a ballerina. And then, just as they approached the front of a house, it clicked.

"You're the Giry girl!" cried the Phantom.

Meg turned round to look at him and felt her insides freeze with fear at the rage she could see building behind his eyes.

"Monsieur, I –"

"You insolent wretch! I suppose your mother put you up to this? Pretend to want to help the Phantom so that you can lure him into a trap? You really I think I would trust you or your mother to be of service to me when you betrayed me to that damned Vicomte? Do you!"

Meg tried desperately to get her mind to block out the fear she was feeling and function normally, but was let down severely. She tried to remember her argument for why he should trust them and to deliver it in an even tone of voice. It didn't work: all that came out was a broken explanation in a voice so frightened it was virtually pleading.

"Monsieur, I know that… after my mother felt she had to tell the Vicomte… she feels guilty about it, really she does, but she had no other choice if she was to protect herself from suspicion… we are trying to help you… whether you will admit it to yourself or not, half of Paris is baying for your blood and your description has been circulated everywhere – "

"No doubt with all the little details filled in by your dear mother!"

Meg backed up slowly as the Phantom stalked towards her, until her back was against the hard wood of the door, her eyes dilated with fear and her breath coming short and swift.

"No! No, Monsieur, I promise you she did not tell them anything more! Please, monsieur, can't you just accept that we going to do the best we can to try and help you? My mother has helped the carrying out of a vast number of your orders since she brought you to the Opera Populaire and she does not wish you to lose one of the few friends you may have!"

The Phantom was glaring at her, hurt and anger and hatred and sorrow all mixed up in his intense gaze. Meg nearly whimpered in fear when she saw his fingers twitch, as though ready to go for her throat, and wildly thought up anything she could to try and persuade the Phantom that she and her mother did not intend to turn him over to the gendarmes or otherwise try to betray him.

"Christine betrayed you! She betrayed you in front of hundreds of people by removing your greatest shield of protection – but you let her go and she will not betray you again! She promised you that she would not tell anyone the things she knew about you and I would be willing to bet that she made the Vicomte promise not to say anything either, or you would be dead by now, so why will you not give us another chance?"

Meg instantly knew that her comments had struck a cord as the Phantom growled and leapt at her, his hands reaching for her neck as tears flowed down his cheeks. Frantically trying to keep him at bay she threw herself against the door; feeling it open she ran inside, trying to get as far away from him as she could. She turned round and screamed as he bore her to the floor, his face frighteningly close to her and twisted with an insane anger. She felt his hands clamp round her throat and squeeze hard; choking for air she struggled to get out from under him, praying that something would intervene and stop him from murdering her.

And it did. Meg watched in amazement and horror as there was a loud thud and the Phantom pitched headfirst towards her, the death-grip round her throat finally loosening and allowing her to fill her lungs with air. She heaved his body off her and stood up shakily, looking down at his unconscious form. She stared at him in confusion, until she noticed her mother standing behind her, holding a heavy brass candlestick.

Madame Giry had heard the approach of the two people outside her door and the fierce exchange of words between them. As she listened she felt fear and protectiveness well up inside her at her daughter's petrified tone: she had already got the candlestick in her hand in case of self defence, but she had wrenched open the door as she heard her daughter throw herself upon it and had watched the pair fall to the ground. She had meant to strike immediately but the sight of her daughter being strangled had momentarily frozen her with shock; as soon as this wore off, however, she had saved that of the two which she deemed most worth saving, and knocked the Phantom out cold.

As Meg got up off the floor Madame Giry put a hand to her heart and tried to calm her breathing. Meg turned and saw her, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear, admiration and surprise. After taking several minutes to catch her breath she spoke.

"Maman, I'm – I'm so sorry… I tried to make him understand but he wouldn't have it. He – he is convinced that he must hate the world and – and that the world hates him… oh, Maman, I was so scared; I'm sorry to have made such a mess of this…"

Madame Giry moved over and put her arms round her sobbing child, gently kissing the top of her head as she comforted her.

"Shush. Quiet, child. You have not done anything wrong, you did exactly as I asked, which was to bring him here, and goodness knows, anyone who manages to persuade the Phantom to comes even so far as you had cannot have made a mess of things: he is very much his own master and if he had not wanted to come with you then he would not have done. I am the one who should be sorry: for putting you in that position because I was too afraid to do it myself, and I'm sorry for not coming to your aid sooner, but I was not sure how best to intervene."

Meg smiled through her tears at this last comment.

"I think it is very much a good thing you did not intervene, Maman, or he would assuredly have tried his very best to kill you and I would not have been able to think of a way to stop him. He is much stronger than me."

Madame Giry could not help but laugh to herself. Yes, he may be underfed and have led a most unusual life, but years of traversing the Opera House by secret ways and climbing ropes up to catwalks had left him with a wiry strength that was not to be easily dismissed. He was truly remarkable.

She turned her daughter round to face her, drying the tears off Meg's face with a corner of her sleeve.

"Come now: you must get some rest and some more suitable clothing, you've had a hard day," she said softly, "and I must find some way of restraining him before he wakes up; I would not have us risk our necks any more than necessary."

As the fog began to clear from his brain he registered a deep throbbing at the base of his skull and felt the bile rise in his throat. As he wretched he saw someone place a bucket beside him and felt them hold his hair back from his face. As the feeling of nausea cleared he also realised that his hands had been bound behind him and his ankles had been tied, plus the wound from whatever had hit him had been carefully bandaged.

"Here, Monsieur, I suggest you drink some water; it has herbs in it to take away the pain."

He felt the rage rise within him again as he saw Madame Giry kneeling next to him, but he had not eaten for at least a couple of days now and after the blow was too weak to do much more that accept the water being pressed against his lips, let alone take his anger out on the woman beside him.

After swallowing a few times and clearing his throat he addressed Madame Giry, his voice coming out in a hiss of unconcealed fury.

"What do you think you are doing? Why do you think I would want your help after you betrayed me to the fop of a Vicomte? Is this why you have tied me up, because you fear that I would be within my rights to kill you? For that is what I want to do. That is what you deserve!"

"Monsieur, you must understand I did not willingly betray you. I had a choice to make. Either I could aid the Vicomte and do what was right in so many other people's eyes, meaning I would not be so likely to lose my job, the sole means for supporting myself and my innocent daughter, and meaning I would not be arrested for withholding important information, or harbouring an obsessed fugitive who hurt one I loved like a daughter. You were a suspected murderer: I _know_ you are a murderer. I _know_ you would have killed the Vicomte if Christine had denied you. Weighing it up, it was easy to see which choice I would have to make. But that does not mean I wanted you to be hurt further. I have helped you and provided you for many years now, and I had rather hoped that that would garner friendship from you, no matter what the odds, but it seems I was wrong. So now I must ask you to forgive my seeming betrayal, if not for the friendship we shared then for your own sake, because I do not want to see you dead."

So saying, she stood up and left the room.

The Phantom glared after her, furiously telling himself that what she said was a lie, but in his heart he started to feel the first tingling of admission that she had not had a choice and that he could not blame her for her choice: _he_ would have chose Meg and Madame Giry's lives over that of an obsessed madman if he had been in her position. He started to forgive her.

The next morning Meg came out into the living area of the small apartment to the sight of the Phantom curled up in the corner by the stove, fast asleep. She could not help but wonder at this sight, seeing him so calm and peaceful, so unlike the wrath and anger she had always seen before, and so vulnerable. Curled up in a foetal position, his face unmasked and innocent in sleep, he looked almost childlike. She tiptoed towards the sideboard where her mother kept her purse so that she could go and buy fresh bread from the boulangerie for breakfast, hoping that she would not wake him from his slumber.

Unfortunately, even when fast asleep the Phantom had a highly trained sense of hearing, and upon sensing the presence of another person in the vicinity he sat bolt upright, his eyes snapping open and training themselves on Meg.

Meg hesitated nervously, unsure as to what she should do next. Should she address him, or should she merely carry on with her task without a word to him? Her anxiety was heightened when she saw that he no longer appeared childlike or innocent and was very obviously himself again. Turning first one way and then another in her confusion she was stopped when she heard a soft, melodious voice address her, so different to the harsh syllables she had heard the night before that she would of thought it a different person had she not heard him sing during Don Juan.

"Good morning, Mademoiselle," he said, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on hers, "what are you doing?"

Meg smiled weakly, swallowing the lump of fear in her throat.

"I was just going out to buy some bread. I apologise for waking you, I had not meant to."

"I see," at this point his gaze became trouble and his eyes flitted away momentarily before coming back to meet hers, this time looking decidedly shifty. "I owe you an apology. I understand that you mother was acting in your best interest when she betrayed -", he shook his head, correcting himself, "gave me away, and I am obliged to you for your aid. I thank you."

Meg could only stand and gape at him in astonishment, all thoughts of bread forgotten at what she had just heard. The Phantom of the Opera had thanked her. She reckoned that was one for the record book. But then he said something that surprised her even more, and she took an involuntary step backwards, her eyes widening and her mouth opening even further.

"My name is Erik."

A/N: Any good? Long chapter for me, so I hope you got through it alright. Please leave a review. Thanks, Estelle Tinwiel.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own any version of the Phantom of the Opera (except my DVD and soundtrack) and make no money from this story.

Author's Note:

I've been reading through the previous chapter and have noticed some glaring grammatical errors that my grammar check did not show me, so I'll be correcting them soon. Also, I don't think I made it clear when the scene changed in the previous chapters: apparently this site doesn't like repeated underscores, so from now on I'll just leave bigger gaps and hope that works, but I'll go back and change the other later. I've now enable anonymous reviews, because I hadn't realised before that it was disabled, so all those of you who don't review no longer have an excuse.

I wasn't quite sure how to get this plot going so if it's a bit weird at the moment I'm sorry. I promise it will get better later.

I've finally managed to get a copy of the Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux! (starts reading frantically). I've noticed some major differences, but for this story I am going to continue basing it on the Lloyd Webber film, because it would be too much hassle to change him to having the whole of his face disfigured rather than just one side, and also the film leaves the story much more open ended and provided more room for elaboration. So to all the Leroux purists out there, I apologise, but I have other stories planned that will be much more Leroux based, although I may add some more Leroux elements into this story later: it depends what mood I'm in.

So, here's the chapter.

"Sadness flies on the wings of morning

and out of the heart of darkness comes the light." - Jean Giraudoux.

- Estelle Tiniwiel –x –.

Meg stood there for a moment in awkward silence before she managed to get her tongue and vocal chords to obey her and form some sort of sentence.

"Oh. Well, I'm… er… I'm…" she trailed off, not being able to recall the sound of her own name in her shocked confusion.

"Meg."

"Yes, yes, that's it. Yes, Meg." How could she have forgotten that? Monosyllabic and boring. She gathered her confused wits and rallied herself, gracing the Phantom with a slightly shell shocked but also quite pleased smile.

"Well, Monsieur, if you wish to have fresh bread this morning I had better get to the boulangerie before the crowds come. Good day."

"Good day, Mademoiselle."

And with this she turned and walked out into the street, locking the door securely behind her.

The Phantom almost smiled at her obvious amazement at his revelation, but caught himself in time and went back to brooding over a lost love that he had no hope of retrieving.

About ten minutes after Meg had left, Madame Giry came into the living area to see that the bound Phantom had manoeuvred himself into a sitting position and was glaring fixedly at a point on the floorboards. She left him in silence for a while, getting tea cups out of the cupboard and stoking up the stove to heat the kettle. When she had finished this she moved over to the other side of the room and seated herself in an armchair opposite the Phantom.

"Good morning, Monsieur. How are you today?"

"How do expect?" came the somewhat sharp reply, "it has been less than twenty-four hours since I relinquished the love of my life into the arms of that fool of a Vicomte, I have been exposed in front of the cream of Paris and I am again on the run from the law: and yet you still have the audacity to ask me how I am!"

Madame Giry pursed her lips slightly at his harsh attitude and tried to keep her calm, seeing that retaliation would get her nowhere.

"Excuse me, Monsieur; I was only trying to be polite."

"Since when was anybody thoughtful enough to bother being polite to me?"

"Generally since you threatened them so much that they felt that they would be very much in danger if they were anything other than perfectly cordial to you. But I am being polite to you, _Monsieur_, because I think you could be a magnificent human being if only you changed your outlook on life and I have a great level of respect for you."

These honest truths were met by a stony silence, the Phantom's gaze staring so hard at the floorboards that Madame Giry was surprised that they didn't combust. She was about to add something more when she realised the change in the man's eyes, burning hot and then cold, anger and emotion whirling together till the poor man looked so pitiful she would have gone over and comforted him, had it not been for the fact that she was still mortally afraid of this beaten wreck of a human being. She saw the tears roll down his cheeks as he attempted to talk to her whilst constantly trying to avoid eye contact.

"Then… I don't see… why… you won't call me by my name… if you hold me in such high esteem – ". Madame Giry's eyebrows rose slightly in surprise and consternation at the man's hitched breathing, as he fought to hold back the tears he did not want to show. She rose from her seat and went to kneel in front of him, not daring to reach out and smooth the tears from his cheeks.

"Erik…"

His head snapped back, his eyes frantically locking with hers and asking that most unanswerable question: _why_?

Meg walked into the boulangerie in a daze, so much so that the shop girl had to call her three times to get her attention.

"Meg? Meg? Meg!"

"Oh, what? Yes, who is it?"

The girl behind the counter smiled slightly, a look of amused concern on her face and in her eyes.

"It's me, Meg. Martine, the same girl that's been living here for sixteen years and been working her for two, whom you've know for – ooh – quite a while now."

"Sorry, Martine, I was off in my own little world, you know me."

"No, Meg. I don't think I do: you never used to go off into little daydreams like this, although you spun some wonderfully inventive tales; not, that is, until Christine became involved with the Opera Ghost. Dreaming of Angels and Demons are we?"

Meg's face blanked out again and a strange light came to her eyes.

"Yes, I was: I was dreaming of an angel," then added at a whisper, "a fallen angel."

Suddenly Meg snapped out of it, realising with horror that she may have given far too much of herself away, giving her order and taking the bread as fast as she could and shoving the money into the amazed shop girl's hands before turning and all but running out of the shop and round the corner out of sight.

"Meg! Wait! You forgot your change!"

Martine's father came out of the baking room, mopping at his brow with the corner of his apron and casting a cheerful glance over his bemused daughter.

"Everything alright, m' dear?"

"Yes, father, everything's fine. But something's up with Meg."

Meg jammed the key into the lock and rushed into the apartment, slamming the door behind her. She was about to shout out when she pulled up short in horror and curious fascination: her mother was kneeling in front of the Phantom of the Opera, hugging him and rocking him gently back and forth as he sobbed into her shoulder. Meg felt the blood rise in her cheeks at the awful sense of being an intruder on this complete loss of another's self control.

"Erm… I…," she began, but stopped abruptly when her mother looked over her shoulder and shook her head no.

After several long and painful minutes the broken creature sitting tied up on the floor stopped its hysterical outburst and merely gazed forlornly at its feet, a world of pain and anguish shut up behind its eyes, refusing to surrender itself again in indulging its self pity in front of the two others.

Meg looked at this man, the Phantom of the Opera, the man she now knew was called Erik, and suddenly understood how beautiful his soul was, how exquisite the pain and how deep the hatred, and knew that this was all because of man's doing, but she also saw how this soul longed only to love and be loved and to be seen as something other than a freak. She felt indescribable pity well up inside her. Then she did something that horrified her mother and shocked the man no end: she stepped boldly out from her place by the door, crossed the space between her and the man called Erik, knelt down in front of him and, not allowing him to pull back or make protest, kissed him.

Erik tried to jerk back when he felt her lips meet his, but met only the wall. He felt himself caught up in a whirlwind of emotions, not sure which of them were right: he was angry because he had only just been sundered from Christine; he felt an indescribable sorrow at the thought that this was not Christine kissing him; he felt shock and surprise that this girl who hardly knew him was willing to kiss him whilst she could so obviously see his face, but gratefulness that she would do so; and above all he felt desire.

As Meg broke away and moved back to end the kiss he lowered his eyes so that she could not see what was going through his mind, though she could see quite clearly the bright flush that rose up his neck. This wasn't right: this girl was no older than Christine had been: a mere child. He should not want her like this; but a lifetime of no love and no physical contact from women woke something in him over which he had no control, and it frightened him. He did not love her, this pretty young girl kneeling in front of him; she had only kissed him out of pity, not because she loved him for himself, but despite this he felt the instinctive longing for a mate rise within him and he immediately knew that if he were to surrender himself to it all he would end up doing is hurt a lot more people again, including himself. He suddenly found that hurting people who had cared for you did matter, and that he was not free of guilt when it came to this or to hurting himself. He did not want to let himself want her, for she would just deny him again, as Christine had. With Christine he had thought himself in love, but now he knew different. He knew that he had been obsessed, craving comfort and love and had fooled himself into believing that the singer loved him back; there had been no love there, only desire, and that's all there was here. He did not look up at Meg or acknowledge her in any way, turning his head and remaining silent.

Madame Giry did not speak, only stared in astonishment and horror as her daughter knelt down and kissed the Phantom. This could not be happening again: she could not be losing her other daughter to this man. He was unsuitable in every way. She wanted to yell and shout and ask Meg what on earth she thought she was doing, but she couldn't get the words to come out of her throat.

Meg looked at herself in shock. She could not believe she had just kissed the Opera Ghost. Christine would kill her. Glancing over at her mother she realised that her mother probably would, too. Why had she done it? Why? Sure, she pitied the man, but that was no call for such a … a … physical demonstration of emotion. She was lost. For the first time in her life she didn't recognise herself.

Gradually, she became aware that her mother was still staring at her and that the man on the floor was pointedly refusing to look at her. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks and she grasped desperately at the news she had been going to tell them before she had kissed Erik.

"Erm… I…" she tried desperately to swallow the lump of embarrassment constricting her vocal chords, "oh God, how can I tell you this? I…" she paused again, trying to collect her thoughts, "I think I might have exposed us. The girl down the shop saw me in a bit of a daze and asked me what I was dreaming of and I said angels and demons and she gave me a funny look and then I left rather quickly and I think she might be suspicious." She said the last bit without taking a breath and then turned and ran from the room.

Erik's head rose slowly to look after her, his gaze curious: the girl had been daydreaming of angels and demons.

Meg ran into her room and slammed the door shut, placing her back against it. Her breathing was quick and deep and she felt tears of fear and humiliation fall down her cheeks.

"Oh, God, what have I done?"

**A/N: So what do you think. I think that chapter was a bit wordy and Meg spent most of her time being confused and amazed so if you think it's rubbish please tell me. Criticism is gladly accepted, just don't flame.**


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own any version of the Phantom of the Opera (except my DVD and soundtrack) and make no money from this story.

Author's Note:

Sorry if Erik's been spending most of this story being moody and frightening, but let's face it, he's not going to recover that quickly and the Giry's aren't going to be a favourite of his. His get better eventually.

Bit of a shorter chapter this time, and not much happens, but it is necessary to the plot so bear with me. I apologise for being so slow at updating, but school's being a pain and I have to put that as a priority, not matter how much I wish otherwise. I might be able to get another couple of chapters out over the xmas holidays, but I've still got lots of work on so we'll just have to wait and see. Please review! I'd be very grateful for any feedback. Oh, by the way: Britomartis, you mentioned a new reply button for reviews. Can you tell me where that is? Maybe I just haven't noticed yet because I haven't had any recent reviews, but if you could just confirm it then that would be good. Thanks!

In case I don't post again over Christmas I'd just like to wish all my readers a wonderful Christmas and a Happy New Year.

"Quarrels would not last long if the fault was only on one side." – François de la Rochefoucauld

- Estelle Tiniwiel –x –.

Meg slid down the door and buried her face in her hands, sobbing with shame – how could she have been so careless? All she had been asked to do was go and fetch a loaf of bread and yet she'd still managed to put them in danger. She _knew _Martine knew a lot about the story of Christine and the Phantom, Meg had been the one who told her; Martine knew that the infamous Opera Ghost had been called the Angel of Music by Christine, but that people who had seen his face described him as a demon, and there Meg had been blurting out dreaming about angels and demons. Martine would have to be exceedingly thick not to notice the link and Meg knew Martine was a very bright girl. Meg could not believe how recklessly stupid she had been.

"Meg?" Her mother knocked gently at the door.

"Meg, are you alright? There's no need to be ashamed; everyone makes mistakes."

"Not as big as this!" Meg wailed.

Madame Giry closed her eyes and leant her head against the doorframe.

"Please, Meg, listen to me: what's done is done. You can't change the fact that you said what you did, you can only try and make the best of a bad situation. Go back to Martine's tomorrow and have a chat with her: tell her you said what you said because Christine's still upset about what happened and you're worried about her. The whole of Paris is scared that the Phantom is on the loose, and I would say many would believe Christine is in the most danger of all, which gives you good reason to be thinking of her. Hmm?"

"It's not that simple and Martine's not that stupid! She's bound to know something's going on! You were the one who took all the Phantom's messages: it's not going to be that hard for her to make the link between that and us sheltering him, especially after what I said!"

"Meg, please stop screaming at me and let me come in."

"No!"

"Meg, please open the door."

"No!"

"Meg, please open the door!"

"I said no!"

Meg suddenly felt herself thrown across the room as Erik kicked the door as hard as he could, breaking the lock and flinging the door open.

Madame Giry put her hands to her mouth in horror as he strode across the room and pulled Meg up.

"Monsieur, please! What are you doing!"

Erik turned to place burning eyes on her.

"Teaching her a lesson."

Madame Giry felt faint and slightly sick at this. Unless he was teaching Christine all his other lessons involved pain.

"Please, Monsieur Erik, she did not mean to let it slip: it was a mistake! Please leave her be!"

"No."

Madame Giry tried to push in between the two, but Erik merely gripped her collar and steered her away to hold her at arm's length before letting go and turning back to Meg.

"You," he hissed, pointing sharply at Meg, "have made a very large error. When you first told us of your little trip I thought nothing of it, I didn't much care whether or not I was found. The gallows have been waiting for me all my life. But then I remembered that I am not the only one you have put in danger." He scowled at her look of sheer bewilderment. "Really, Mademoiselle Giry, I am not completely selfish: you I don't care for, but your mother has been a most faithful and obedient servant and, I have been led to believe, quite a good mother. So I am not going to let you let her down." He paused momentarily, letting the tension build; he could see Meg start to shake. "You will do as your mother says and talk to that girl. You will convince her that you know nothing of my whereabouts or I'm afraid she may meet with a rather unfortunate accident."

Meg whimpered slightly, tears of fright rolling down her smooth cheeks. This man was renowned for making threats and seeing their terms complied with, but never had it been directed at her like this. If she did not do as this man ordered then her friend would die. She felt herself hating this man: how could he be so cold and ruthless when she had tried to help him, when she had taken pity on him? She felt her insides burn and roil as her pity turned to loathing and disgust.

"Christine was right," she half whispered, the spite evident in her voice, "you truly are a monster."

He glared at her, the look so piercing Meg felt it go to her heart as thought someone was shoving needles into her chest, and raised his arm as if to strike her, but turned away and blasted a lamp off the dresser.

Meg let out the breath she was holding with relief. Madame Giry still looked as though she was torn between fainting and running screaming for the police.

Erik faced the wall above the dresser and tried to suppress the growl of anger and anguish building in his chest. He couldn't understand why he felt so let down that she would think this. Perhaps it was because she was Giry's daughter and he had thought she would always think the same things her mother told her; perhaps it was because she _had_ taken pity on him but now, like with Christine, she had turned against him.

"You can never keep your big mouth shut! Can you Meg Giry."

Meg didn't answer, for fear of ending up like the lamp, lying shattered and broken on the floor.

Suddenly Meg saw her mother's eyes go wide and what little colour there was left drain out of her face.

"Maman, what is the matter?"

Madame Giry pointed wordlessly at the Phantom's hands.

Meg didn't understand. They were perfectly normal hands. Eight fingers, two thumbs, everything. Then it clicked: there were no ropes.

"How did you get out! We tied your hands, how did you get out!"

"Oh, please! You left me in a kitchen, for goodness sake, it wasn't exactly hard to acquire a knife and cut myself free."

By this point Erik had turned to face them. Meg felt her eyes automatically flit around the room to find out if the aforementioned knife was in any position where it could plunge itself into her chest. She was relieved to be assured that no, there was no knife in the room. Just to be on the safe side though…

"Erik… where is the knife."

"On the sideboard next to the tea set."

Meg met her mother's eye and they silently agreed that it would be safe to leave the room now without being severely reprimanded by the tall man standing in front of them. But just then the man moved.

In his exasperated mood Erik had let his gaze wander across the room, resting at last on the bedside table, where he caught a glimpse of white. Both women felt themselves tense and fear rise once more in their hearts as anger flared in the Phantom's eyes and his tone became dark, hard, and sharp as shard of obsidian.

"What are you doing with my mask?"


	6. Chapter 6

**I am so sorry it has taken me such a phenomenal time to update. I had a serious case of writer's block and just couldn't think of a way to carry on the story in a way that seemed vaguely sensible. I finally came up with this, which although not perhaps quite the direction I originally had for the story, seems to work pretty well. Sorry it is a short chapter. I am still compiling the ideas for the next chapter, so hopefully I can get that out within the next week or so. Hope you like it, and once again I apologise for the slow update.**

"**Ghosts crowd the young child's fragile eggshell mind." – JIM MORRISON, An American Prayer**

**- Estelle Tiniwiel - x -**

"W-Well, Monsieur… I…."

"Come then, Little Giry, spit it out! I want to know why you have my mask!"

Meg's eyes closed and her shoulders slumped, and she emitted a sigh of resignation.

"You must promise not to laugh at me if I tell you."

Erik couldn't imagine what she could have to say that could possibly make him laugh right now, so he gave a short, sharp nod of agreement.

"Well, part of it was because I thought that you might regret leaving it behind later, after all I can't imagine that it would be easy to find many porcelain mask makers, and part of it was because… was because…" Here she stopped, looking down at her feet, and inhaled sharply: the deep breath before the plunge. "The other reason is because, quite frankly, ever since I first heard of the Opera Ghost the idea of it fascinated me. I imagined all sorts of wild and ridiculous stories to explain him; I built up a picture in my head of what this Ghost would look like, what his personality would be… what had killed him. I suppose you could say I had a crush on an idea – _Erik's eyebrows shot up_ – similar to Christine's adoration of her angel – _The eyebrows set themselves back into a frown_ -. But then I found that my Ghost wasn't a ghost, and Christine found that her Angel wasn't a messenger of Heaven, but a man. He was a man, not an apparition, and I heard his story – _Here Erik turned, glaring, to Madame Giry, and took a step forward – _but honestly, Monsieur, the people telling the story did not know that they were being heard! I listened at the keyhole to my mother's door as she spoke to the Vicomte and learnt about my Ghost, and his story was sadder and more romantic than any my mind had so far created. I pitied him. I did. I took his mask because he had left it behind. I didn't want anyone else to find it. It would have ruined my love completely if someone else had had it: that mask represented he who had left, and who I doubted I should ever hear of again… or see again…" She trailed off, unsure of what to say next, or how to put it.

Madame Giry steadied herself and tried to gather her thoughts into something coherent. Erik just stood there stunned.

"Well, Meg, I think we have heard quite enough from you for today. Go downstairs and sit where Monsieur Erik was sitting earlier and think long and hard about what you have just said and what you really think. Before now I have heard many words from you saying how the Phantom is someone to be hated for all the bad he has done, and now this! I think you need to get your head straight, young lady, before you are involved in this business further!"

Meg got up and walked out, eyes to the floor.

Madame Giry turned to the Phantom, fear and anger for her daughter evident on her face, and the look in her eyes easily telling him that he had a long way to go before he could regain even her trust.

"Well, Monsieur, I hope you are pleased with yourself. I am going to leave you in here. You may come out whenever you wish, but you are not to go near Meg. I will not have her being taken advantage of, do you hear me? I refuse to lose another daughter to you."

Erik nodded dumbly in agreement and Madame Giry left the room frowning, closing the door gently behind her. Erik had heard what Madame Giry had said, but was having trouble making it go in, his mind going over and over the speech he had just heard from Meg.

My Ghost. Crush. Love. My Ghost.


	7. Chapter 7

**Okay, so admittedly it took me a bit longer than a week to update – I kept letting myself be distracted, so I apologise for that. I think you're just going to have to accept that I'm not a particularly punctual person. In this chapter I have used asterixes (hope they show up) to denote thought, because in the previous chapter I used italics to show where direct speech was interrupted by narrative. I realised when reading over my story that I had made Meg's character too complicated emotionally for me to keep a hold of, so this chapter goes towards helping figure out all those conflicting feelings and making sure her personality doesn't become too fractured. This is quite an angsty chapter, so I hope it's alright. Oh, and there is swearing, so I've increased the rating to M just to be on the safe side (I couldn't decide if it counted as mild or strong coarse language). For those of you who may say that Meg is a woman and wouldn't know words like that, and that men in those days would have been too noble to swear like that, or maybe even think that they didn't have swear words like that, I disagree: of course they are going to have words like that (except that they would be the French version, but I'm English and writing a story in English so I don't want to overuse French words in case it looks as though I'm trying to be clever), and yes, admittedly they may not have used swearwords often, but they have both been living in an Opera House for years, so they will have heard the words and know what they mean. So you have been warned. Please leave a review, but don't flame me if you don't like these characters swearing a bit. Hope you like the chapter.**

"**Our Age of Anxiety is, in great part, the result of trying to do today's jobs with yesterday's tools." – Marshall McLuhan**

**Estelle Tiniwiel – x – **

Shit. How in the name of all that is holy am I going to get out of this one? A young girl has proclaimed that she loves you, but at the same time she still hates you for what you've done. Or does she? Which sentiment does she truly hold? Huh, she thinks she is confused; she ought to try being me right now… Actually, no; she probably shouldn't. It might kill her.

This dark train of thought ran through Erik's mind all that night as he sat in the little nest of blankets Madame Giry had made up for him in the living area.

She said she felt sad for you, that she pitied you. She was fascinated by you. Yes, that was it. She had been in the grip of an obsession: that is not the same as love.

Then a treacherous little voice added: She was in the grip of an obsession: just like you.

It is only now that she has started talking and thinking of me in terms of love. Before she just… tolerated me. And then pitied me – started to ignore the fact that I had hurt someone she loved, started to ignore the fact that I am a murdering madman. Or maybe she didn't ignore it at all, maybe that was what started to change her.

Then the little voice chimed in again: And then you had to go and destroy everything again by threatening her dear little boulangerie friend, didn't you? Whether or not she has just said she loves you it doesn't mean she can't hate you at the same time. You heard it in her voice: the hatred, the spite, the sense of betrayal, the feeling of abhorrence. You've pushed her away again.

Maybe I can get her back. She said she loved me _after_ she had told me I truly was a monster. She said it afterwards!

The voice chuckled: Yes! She said it afterwards! And I wonder how much of it she believed anymore, how much of it she doubted, how sick she felt at admitting that she could ever think of loving something like you? She can only want to destroy you now. You are the source of all the pain in her life. It all comes back to you.

Destroy. Destruction. That is all I am good for now. That is all I was ever good for.

I can never love.

(In Meg's room…)

"God, Meg, why do you have to be such an idiot! Blurting out all that rubbish about having a crush on an idea, using words like love, when all along you know that he's a murderer and madman and he's threatened to hurt or possibly kill, which by the way is a very great danger considering who he is, Martine? I hate him. I really do. I can't possibly love him. He's too ugly. Oh shit, I know I'm not that shallow. But he is too dangerous. Too changeable. No one sensible would settle marrying a man like him. But hey, you're not sensible are you? because you're saying this all out loud!"

Meg sighed heavily and sank to balance herself on the edge of her bed, her toes tip-tapping the floorboards in her frustration.

I'd better shut up. He might hear me. I was being as quiet as I could when I tried to sneak past him this morning and he still hear me, even though he was fast asleep.

She lay down on the bed, her mind a mass of conflicting emotions, a confusing mess that left her wanting to disappear and leave the world behind.

In her room Madame Giry took her ear away from the wall and settled back down on her bed, comforted that her daughter was at least thinking rationally now.


End file.
